


FIRE!!!

by UrsulaAngstrom



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrsulaAngstrom/pseuds/UrsulaAngstrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No characters are harmed during this story.  Don't let the title worry you.  It is a SLASH story with a holiday theme.   (St. Patrick's Day)  The guys get lucky.   :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIRE!!!

FIRE!!!

by Ursula Angstrom

 

Whistling the old Irish tune, When Irish Eyes Are Smilin', Starsky jogged up the stairs of Venice Place, carrying, among other things, a bakery bag full of green-iced sugar cookies that he intended to munch on all day. Dobey had given them the day off, since they'd racked up so much overtime on the Andrews case; so Starsky went to the grocery while Hutch went for his morning run followed by a workout in the gym they'd built in the apartment next door.

Hutch's cupboards were as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's. Understandable, since they'd been working undercover and living elsewhere for the past eight weeks. The only thing in Hutch's refrigerator was eleven cans of beer and five science experiments in the making. Grimacing, Starsky had thrown away all the stuff covered with green islands of penicillin fur. That left them with a bottle of cranberry juice, a jar of Brewer's Yeast, a can of vitamin powder junk Hutch put in his milkshakes, and three eggs. 

The bag of rice, the jar of peanut butter, a box of stale oyster crackers, and four cans of soup did not exactly help. So, Starsky went to Frank's Market, and William's Bakery; then he stopped at the liquor store to get a bottle of Irish whisky.

St. Patrick's Day would not be St. Patrick's Day without corned beef and cabbage and Irish Coffee as an after-dinner treat.

Thanks to the free recipe cards he saw at Frank's Market, he and Hutch would be celebrating the holiday in style today. Because the grocery bags he carried in each arm were chock full of fixins to make Irish Omelets, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Irish Pot-Roasted Chicken, even something called Irish Pasta With Broccoli. Frank's wife was always coming up with clever promotional gimmicks. All her 'Eat Like An Irish King On St. Patrick's Day!' signs made him hungry, so Starsky had given in to every culinary temptation Mrs. Baker had created to sell more groceries because it was a holiday. He'd even remembered to buy green food coloring so they could dye their beer green in honor of St. Paddy's Day.

The last thing he bought was black marker so he could alter the Kiss Me I'm Irish! button he tossed into his cart while he was in the checkout lane. Because he knew Hutch would crack up when he saw the Kiss Me I'm An Irish Jew! button pinned to his leather jacket later on.

So, with a bouquet of green carnations, and a pound of Kerrigan's Irish Bacon in his trunk, Starsky hurried back to his lover's apartment with all the food and special treats for Hutch.

Anticipating a holiday spent at Venice Place, snuggling and puttering around the apartment with Hutch all day, Starsky felt content and incredibly horny as he opened the front door to the sound of the shower running. 

The bathroom door was ajar so he sneaked a quick peek. Silhouetted against the opaque shower curtain, Hutch looked like a steamy Hermes by Praxiteles, because his hard, masculine body was as chiseled yet as supple as that famous statue. 

Spying on his golden Adonis made Starsky ache with longing. Burning with a fiery lust only Hutch could inspire, Starsky hurried into the kitchen and put the perishable groceries away, all the while plotting a prank that would bring his unsuspecting heartthrob rushing into his arms.

Chuckling deviously, Starsky sauntered back into the living room so he could take off his jacket and holster. He never went anywhere unarmed; not even to the grocery. Patting the shamrock on his new button for luck, Starsky counted to ten and yelled "FIRE!!!!" at the top of his lungs.

****

"Shit!" Hutch swore as he dropped the bar of soap on his foot. 

Wondering what Merlene's kitten had done to his apartment now, Hutch jumped out of the shower like he was shot out of a cannon, barreling out the bathroom door seconds later like he was being chased by hounds from Hell.

Expecting to see smoke and flames, but finding only Starsky and sunshine, Hutch skidded to a halt, frantic and perplexed, naked as Adam on his first day in Eden.

God he was a sight! Stunning as a lightning bolt, and as beautiful as a sunrise. Wet or dry, Hutch could take your breath away.

Thor and Freya outdid themselves when they created this particular love child, Starsky thought--not for the first time. 

Hutch was a changeling. Starsky was convinced of that. No way was a man with hair that luminous, lips that decadent, and eyes the color of fresh cut aquamarines was a mere mortal. Starsky had no proof yet, but one day he'd confirm that his suspicions were true. The incident with the Dalmatian proved that Hutch was being protected by a Nordic haminga. If Hlyn herself was guarding his soulmate, then Hutch had to be sacred to Frigg. It was the only explanation that made sense! Why else would a black and white dog have saved Hutch's life so many times during that investigation?

Lost in his reverie, Starsky really didn't notice the scowl on Hutch's face until he spoke.

"Fire? What Fire?" Hutch demanded, his voice thunderously imperious, (as the son of Norse Gods should be.)

Chuckling naughtily, Starsky confessed, "There's no fire. I just wanted to see you naked." 

**** 

As usual, Hutch didn't know whether to hit Starsky or kiss him when he pulled one of his crazy pranks. Shaking his head in exasperation, Hutch could not suppress the urge to chuckle.

"You are such a pervert," Hutch said.

Leering appreciatively as he watched his naked partner drip onto the brown rug in the living room, Starsky said, "And you are hung like a palomino stallion, Pal-O'Mine."

Flattered by the lusty, unrepentant gleam in Starsky's eyes, Hutch smiled and said, "Give me a stud fee and I'll mount you."

Chuckling devilishly Starsky immediately thrust his hand into the front pockets of his jeans, pulled out all the cash he had, and handed it to Hutch. Hutch couldn't resist the urge to tease The Big Tease, so he counted out the cash and said, "Twenty eight bucks! I'm worth more than that."

Starsky knew Blondie's incredulity was feigned, but he reassured Hutch anyway. 

Tenderly running his fingers through Hutch's wet blond hair, Starsky cherished his lover with eyes the color of melting sapphires, and said, "You're worth a king's ransom, babe. But no one's figured out that I'm one of those changelings yet. When they do, and I get my kingdom back, I'll give you my palace and my horse."

The earnest love and fervent devotion Hutch saw in Starsky's eyes made him unravel. Starsky would give him the Moon on a string if he wanted. But all Hutch wanted or needed was David Michael Starsky, so he kissed his gorgeous lover passionately, then said, "As long as your pony's not a red and white zebra."

****

"I'll red and white zebra stripe your ass, Hutchinson!"

Laughing like a bratty little brother Hutch dashed away as soon as he insulted Starsky's Torino. Starsky tried to swat him, but Hutch could move fast when he wanted to. 

"Missed me!" Hutch taunted, running into the kitchen.

Round and round the table they went, like the monkey that chased the weasel.

"Weasel!" Starsky hollered. 

Hutch just laughed and started cackling, screeching like a monkey in a cage at the Bay City Zoo; (one of their favorite places to visit on lazy Sunday afternoons.) 

Roaring like a lion, Starsky vaulted onto the wooden table and launched himself at Hutch. Startled, the big blond caught Starsky in mid-flying tackle. They staggered, stumbled, but neither of them fell. Playful acrobatics led to a scuffling tussle, which ended up as a wrestling match on the kitchen floor.

Hutch might have been the expert wrestler, but Starsky had the advantage of being fully clothed. When Hutch put Starsky in a headlock, all Starsky had to do was knee Hutch in the groin to get released.

"Mine!" Starsky crowed triumphantly, descending on Hutch's cock face-first as he reversed position in the blink of an eye.

****

Flat on his back, with Starsky's tented fly straddling his face, Hutch's grimace quickly turned into a smile as he grabbed Starsky's ass and gently bit the plump balls hovering above his face like the grapes that tormented Tantalus.

"Hey!" Starsky yelped.

Hutch just laughed and voraciously nibbled on the hard ridge of erect cock threatening to burst the zipper of Starsky's jeans.

"Mmmm," Hutch purred. "Polish sausage."

Starsky's groan turned into a lusty laugh as Hutch's mouth played his cock like a harmonica through the sturdy denim. All Hutch had to do was touch him and Starsky heard music in his mind that thrummed through his body like a rhapsody.

"And you think I'm a pervert."

Unbuckling Starsky's belt with a Cheshire cat grin, Hutch smiled at his eager partner, who was arching over his body like a predatory bird. 

"You've been a bad influence on me Starsky."

"Yeah, right!" Starsky scoffed, balancing himself on his right arm effortlessly as he grabbed a fist full of red-gold cock with his left hand. 

"You were bad to the bone when I met you, Hutch. Don't blame this on me," Starsky said, stroking Hutch's golden scepter covetously before he sensuously teased his lover's foreskin with the tip of his hungry tongue.

"Ohhh," Hutch groaned, bucking like an ecstatic bronco.

One lick and he was Starsky's: body, mind and soul. 

 

****

Gloating as he chuckled, Starsky ruthlessly squeezed the base of Hutch's cock before it erupted in his mouth like a geyser.

"Not yet," Starsky scolded, his voice so husky it rasped against his lover's cockslit like a carnal scourge. 

Eardrums throbbing like jungle drums, Hutch shuddered and moaned, teetering on the brink of imminent orgasm.

"Why not?" Hutch demanded, quaking with desire as he ripped open Starsky's jeans.

The dangling belt buckle almost blinded him when it bounced against his cheek.

Growling like a horny cougar, the frustrated blond yanked the leather belt out of the denim loops with difficulty. 

"Goddamn jeans are so tight you can't even get the belt out of them!" Hutch grumbled.

Scissoring his legs, he grabbed Starsky in another headlock so he could spank that luscious ass with impunity.

"Buy a kilt!" Hutch roared, as he flipped his sexy lover over so he could tear off the jeans he loved/hated.

Slapping Starsky playfully, Hutch kept his love puppy at bay as they scuffled. Starsky wanted the jeans off too, but he fought Hutch like a modest virgin in a bodice ripper. The virile scamp couldn't resist the urge to torment his sexy prey.

"I'm not Scottish!" Starsky protested, slapping at Hutch's grabby hands with such determination they ended up playing a martial arts version of patty cake.

Starsky won because he pulled a Three Stooges gag on Hutch. Whapping Hutch upside the head, complete with sound effects, Starsky pretended to poke his partner’s eyes out, so Hutch would back off.

When reflex made Hutch recoil, Starsky got the belt first. Playfully striping Hutch's ass once with the belt, Starsky yelled, "YEE HA!" like a horny cowboy, then he threw the belt across the room like a lariat before Hutch could use it on him.

"Ride the pony! Ride the pony!" Starsky sang.

****

Laughing raucously, Hutch snorted like a frisky horse. Then he checked out his ass by looking over his left shoulder. One red stripe, very faint--but very noticeable--left a livid mark on his bum that looked like abstract art stigmata. White skin, red stripe, white skin; a reverse image of the Torino etched into his backside by warm leather.

Whinnying like a zebra, Hutch said, "That's me! Your very own zebra boy."

Kissing Starsky's laughing mouth, Hutch taunted his handsome lover by saying, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Sparks turned to flames in Starsky's eyes like a match dropped in a puddle of gasoline. 

With a WHOOSH! of motion, Starsky grabbed Hutch, slammed him down onto his lap, sat up quick, and started swatting. 

"I'm going to spank you!" Starsky shouted gleefully.

Hand pelting backside like a hailstorm, Starsky spanked Hutch fast and furious.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven! 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven!

Somewhere between the thirteenth and fourteenth swat Hutch came explosively. The orgasm catching them both by surprise because it happened so spontaneously and with such ferocity.

Like spontaneous combustion!

Writhing and wailing, as his balls were torn asunder, Hutch anointed Starsky's loins with hot frothy cum that spewed out of him like the foam from a fire extinguisher.

Snarling between clenched teeth, the sound Hutch made was both praise and protest.

Only Starsky could make him this hot, this fast! "NO!" screamed inside of him with annoyance even as "YES!" absolved him with exultation. 

Triumph and fear tearing him in two, Hutch quaked as the premature ejaculation left him shaken and conflicted. The orgasm felt so good, but he wanted to be inside Starsky when it happened. How could he feel so bereft yet so victorious at the same time? 

Feeling blessed and cursed at the same time, Hutch was plagued by performance anxiety.

Would he be able to get it up again? Sometimes he couldn't when it hurt this good. 

Feeling wasted and debauched, Hutch fervently licked his cum from Starsky's jeans, thighs, shirt and belly.

"God, you make me crazy," Hutch grumbled.

"Crazy's a good thing," Starsky murmured, half out of his mind with longing he couldn't suppress either.

Twining his fingers in Hutch's luminous damp hair, Starsky cupped his lover's bowed head, gently urging his horny Norwegian stallion to take the carrot he was nibbling so reverently.

Hutch craved Starsky like a sacrament. Starsky needed Hutch like redemption.

"God, how I love you," Hutch sighed. 

"I love you too, Hutch."

Love was salvation. So they loved each other. In every glorious meaning of that four letter word.

****

Hot breath on hot cock made Starsky's balls feel like were full of boiling sap!

The sensation was too sweet to bear, impossible to endure. Starsky's spine melted like it was made of white chocolate. Cock screaming: "Take me!" Starsky arched backwards, thrusting his cock towards Hutch's mouth like the arrow of Sagittarius. 

Writhing on the linoleum, basking in the sun that blazed through the kitchen windows, Starsky's lust transcended reason as he soared towards his Sol like a moth drawn towards a flame. 

Blue and bronze, peppered with black, Starsky undulated like a captured satyr as he said, "Take me, Hutch! Take me in that hot, sweet mouth!"

When Hutch did Starsky moaned. The ecstatic sound of Starsky's pleasure making Hutch sizzle from ear to groin.

****

Babbling in Hebrew, Yiddish, Polish, and Spanish, Starsky cooed endearments, curses, praise and encouragement as Hutch slowly savored him. Tormenting as he had been tormented; Hutch showed Starsky absolutely no mercy as he punished his lover in ways he knew Starsky could not endure for long. Carnal audacity deserved carnal audacity; so Hutch used lips, teeth and tongue to exact erotic revenge.

"Like that, huh?" Hutch murmured.

"You know I do," Starsky confessed; his voice so raw and breathless he sounded like he had sexual laryngitis.

Starsky loved it when Hutch sucked his balls like a mother's breast. So tender, yet so voracious; so reverent, but so insistent at the same time.

"C'mere, Baby Blue."

Hutch wasn't ready, but Starsky would not be denied. He wanted Hutch inside of his mouth when he came; so ready or not, Hutch eagerly complied; reticence gone as soon as Starsky pulled him close so they could 69.

The only time Starsky let Hutch worship him selflessly is when Hutch gave him no choice. Starsky was not cuffed to Hutch's big brass bed right now, so he claimed what was rightfully his. 

"I'm yours and you're mine," Starsky reminded him.

"Always," Hutch agreed, his mellifluous voice like velvet as it caressed Starsky's ears and his heart at the same time.

***

"Don't do that!" Hutch swore as Starsky gently blew on the balls he'd just licked/sucked.

"Try and stop me," Starsky gloated, teasing Hutch's anus with his fingers as suckled like a newborn lamb.

Starsky's curls brushing against his inflamed skin drove Hutch out of his mind with wild longing. Starsky knew this, so he relentlessly nuzzled Hutch, using his soft, curly hair as a weapon to make Hutch hard and hot for him again.

"Stop it," Hutch begged. "Or I'll cum in your hair."

"Like that's a bad thing," Starsky taunted, laughing wantonly as he tipped his head back. Shaking his head 'no' so his curls would lash Hutch's balls repeatedly, Starsky tormented his lover with erotic glee because his hair was softer than feathers. 

Hutch always felt like he was being tortured with flowers when Starsky aroused him like that. Because Starsky's hair was as soft as dandelion fuzz, but it never fell off and blew away.

"Do that again!" Hutch gasped.

Starsky did, and the sensation was even more mind-boggling!

"Again!" Hutch rasped, his body taut as a bowstring.

Nuzzling Hutch with ecstatic sensuality, Starsky used his curls to whip Hutch into a carnal frenzy.

Dizzy with delight, Starsky stopped only when Hutch screamed, "Don't!"

Starsky knew that tone. It meant Hutch was on the brink of orgasm. 

Hungry for his lover's essence, like a man dying of thirst in the desert, Starsky quit flicking his tongue against the vein underneath Hutch's glans and greedily devoured Hutch so fast, he almost gagged.

Yowling with their mouths full, Starsky and Hutch writhed like conjoined twins; passion's palsy making them euphoric as their bodies soared and cavorted like hawks mating in mid-air.

Earth and gravity became meaningless, totally obsolete. Entwined head-to-cock all they knew was each other. The world and all its troubles ceased to exist. All that mattered to Starsky was pleasuring Hutch. All that mattered to Hutch was pleasing Starsky.

Armageddon would not have stopped the supernova building inside them. 

They were so intent on pleasuring each other, Starsky and Hutch created their own mythology every time they copulated. Watching them together would have made a celibate atheist believe in sex magic. 

Like wolves they had become life-mates, and the voracity of their passion for each other was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Starsky voraciously pursued Hutch like the Norse-Wolf Skoll pursued the Sun, while Hutch pursued him as voraciously as the Norse-Wolf Hati chased the Moon. Sexual Ragnarok was inevitable.

The ecstasy they stoked inside of each other was so strong, so sublime, Death would have waited enviously to claim them because their passion for one another was so undeniable.

Nothing could keep them from loving each other.

Heart to navel, cock to haven, they sucked each other with defiant joy. Unrepentant and unashamed, they basked in the knowledge that 'only I can turn him inside out like this.'

Hands affirming "You're mine!" with every stroke, they bade each other '"Come to me…" until they came with such force the love quake almost drowned them both in a tidal wave of gushing semen.

 

Epilogue

 

The sound of wailing sirens made them laugh simultaneously.

"Someone must have called 911." Starsky quipped.

"I don't know about you, partner, but I need an ambulance," Hutch groaned.

Flattered by the compliment, Starsky helped Hutch pick himself off the floor, teasing him with a song.

"Oz never did give nothin' to the Tin Man--that he didn't, didn't already have," Starsky warbled.

Chuckling, Hutch gave his lover an affectionate swat, because it was Starsky's fault that he was moving like the Tin Man after he rusted in that rainstorm in Oz. The linoleum wasn't as soft as his bed, so Hutch's bad back was making him wince and move like a bruised arthritic as he pried himself off his kitchen floor. 

Sure he was a little sore, but there was sore and there was 'sore'.

Smiling mischievously, Hutch said, "I thought you wanted me to ride you hard so I could put you up wet?"

"Anytime, Sundance. Anytime at all," Starsky purred.

"Would now be good?" Hutch asked, caressing Starsky's ass.

"Now'd be great!" Starsky assured him.

Basking in the moonlit radiance of Starsky's lusty come hither grin, Hutch followed his lover back into his bedroom singing, "I've been through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out of the rain."

Halfway to Hutch's big brass bed, Starsky grabbed his lover's hand and made an impulsive detour. Rain reminding Starsky of the shower that inspired this lark in the first place...

Yanking the phone out of the wall as they passed it, Starsky sang his favorite Beatles song, the one that always reminded him of their relationship. "Anytime at all, all you've gotta do is call, and I'll be there."

Laughing and melting at the same time, Hutch couldn't help but wonder, "What are you going to do with that phone Starsk?" Because the curly-haired imp carried the phone into the bathroom with them, the disconnected red wire dangling like a Devil's tail as Starsky closed the bathroom door behind them.

 

End


End file.
